


attack of the human genes

by quiettewandering



Series: Spirk Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Spock's Curly Hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering
Summary: Spock's straightener is broken. Chaos ensues.





	attack of the human genes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so bad at titles. don't let that deter you, please.

Kirk is deep in sleep, like drool-on-his-pillow-and-dreaming-about-chocolate-cake-deep in sleep, when he hears the commotion in the hallway. He hears the soft pattering of feet sprinting through the hallway in front of his door: back and forth, back and forth.

With a groan, he pushes himself off the bed. “It’s 0600  _hours_ ,” he grumbles to no one particular. 

Still the noise continues: now with not-so-quiet whispers.

He pulls himself out of bed, giving about zero tosses about the fact that he’s in his bare chest and boxers, and pokes his head out the door.

Just as he does, Chapel scurries by the left, nearly taking his head off, saying a hurried “Oh hello Captain!” before she disappears around a corner.

Kirk is blinking in surprise trying to recover when Uhura suddenly sprints by him, hair wild and feet bare. She screeches to a halt in front of Spock’s room, knocking on the door very unsubtly. “Spock!” she hisses. “ _Spock_!”

“Uhura!” Kirk whisper-yells to her. “What in the living  _hell_?”

Spock’s door, which was beginning to open, quickly whooshes shut again. Uhura yelps and spins around. “Jesus, Jim! I mean— _sir_ —”

“It’s 6 in the goddamn morning,” Kirk says, rubbing an eye of sleep. “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” she squeaks. Her hands are behind her, obviously hiding something.

Kirk’s eyes narrow. “Why are you at Spock’s room? Is he okay?”

“Yup, he’s fine. No reason that I’m here. None at all.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kirk keeps direct eye contact with her as he slowly backs into his quarters. It’s not his business; not like he’s Spock’s keeper or anything. 

But the whole thing is suspicious.

It being  _6 o’clock_  in the  _goddamn morning_ , Kirk decides he might as well get ready for the day. Sarek is coming on board that afternoon, along with a large group of important diplomats. The  _Enterprise_  was tasked to bring them all to a summit meeting. It’s got a lot of the crew on edge, having to spiff everything up and have everyone look nice; including Kirk.

With a sigh, he flings his towel over his shoulder and heads to his and Spock’s shared bathroom. The damn thing is locked; of course. “Spooock, c’mon,” he groans, pushing his forehead against the door.

There’s clattering in the bathroom, followed by Uhura and Spock’s whispers.

“No, Spock, it goes _this_ way—”

“Uhura, I cannot hope to understand the illogical makings of this contraption, nor do I want to try. Please figure it out.”

“It’s not illogical, it’s exactly like yours, just a little older—”

Okay, now Kirk’s really confused. He knocks hard on the door. “Guys, what’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” Uhura chimes with false pleasantries. Kirk can hear Spock muttering a Vulcan curse.

“Guys, I’m pulling the Captain card. Open this door.”

Kirk can hear Spock saying, “Nyota, do not, he’ll—”

“For God’s sake, Spock, it’s only hair,” Uhura snaps.

She pulls the door wide open for Kirk to see. Kirk, in turn, almost chokes on his own spit from what he sees.

Spock is standing there, pajama-clad, arms crossed and glaring, with his hair curly and sticking up all over the place.

Kirk’s jaw drops. “Oh. My God.”

“It’s not normally like this,” Spock says, grumpily.

“Well…  _obviously_.”

Spock narrows his eyes at Kirk. If looks could kill, well, Kirk would be dead. “My straightener broke.”

Uhura, who has been trying to cover her mouth and hide her laughter this whole time, snorts and giggles, doubling over.

Spock glares at her.

“So you’ve been… “ Jim gestures to the scene in front of him: a straightener, an army of hair products on the sink, water everywhere, “Trying to….”

“I’ve been trying to get him to use Christine’s,” Uhura sighs, waving the offending object in the air. “But it’s kind of…”

“Old,” Spock says flatly.

“Spock, it’s fine.”

“It’s from the turn of the century,” he snaps back.

Holding up his hands, trying to avoid an all-out fist-fight, Kirk asks, “Want me to give it a shot?”

Spock looks horrified. Uhura looks relieved. “Be my guest,” she says, shoving the straightener into Jim’s hand. “It’s not like he’s exactly  _fun_  in the morning. And I gotta get ready.”

Kirk stands there, grinning at Spock as Uhura flits away. 

And just because Jim is the little shit that his mother raised him to be, he snaps the straightener at Spock like it’s a shark. “Well, Spock-o, you ready for this?”

“Do not call me that.”

“You’re the boss.” He gestures to his room. “It’d be easier if you were sitting down, though. Better access to those luscious locks.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Spock acquiesces and walks into Kirk’s room, plopping himself as primly as he can onto the chair at Jim’s desk. Jim sits on the desk while the straightener heats up.

“This  _is_ old,” he comments. “Needs a plug and everything.”

Spock nods, stiffly.

Kirk grins, and pokes a finger into Spock’s cheek. “Aw, c’mon Spock, you’re not embarrassed, are you? I was bound to figure out you had curly hair at some point.”

“I was so careful,” Spock sighs, almost regrettably. “Every morning I straightened it, hoping you would not notice.”  

“Every morning?” Kirk whistles. “That’s dedication. Especially for something that doesn’t look that bad on you.”

Spock looks peeved. “Vulcans do not have curly hair.”

The straightener seems hot enough. Jim grabs it and stands behind Spock, gently taking a strand and running it through the hot iron. It easily straightens with the high heat.

“So why do  _you_  have curly hair?” Kirk asks. “Does Sarek have a wayward curly-haired gene?”

Quietly, Spock replies, “My mother… her hair was naturally curly. Most people in her lineage were.”

Kirk’s mood becomes somber, as it usually does whenever Spock mentions his mother. He nods. “I hear ya. I… inherited my dad’s hair, apparently. Thick and unruly and blonde.”

“I like your hair,” Spock comments. It’s almost unnecessary to say, except it’s Spock. Kirk takes the compliments where he can get it.

“I like your hair too,” Jim says with a gentle pat on Spock’s head.

After a moment of silence, Spock says, “It’s…” He licks his lips, is uncharacteristically lost for words. “It’s comforting. To keep elements of them.”

Kirk smiles and runs an affectionate hand through Spock’s curls. “For what it’s worth, I think you should keep your hair curly. For when you see your dad today.”

Spock tilts his head backward to look up at Kirk; he has a smile in his eyes. “Do you think so?”

“I do,” Kirk says softly. He leans down and pecks a kiss on Spock’s nose. “I think he’ll like it, too.”

Spock’s hand reaches up and wraps around the back of Kirk’s neck. He pulls Jim’s face towards his; Jim goes willingly. 

“Please turn off the medieval straightener,” Spock whispers against Kirk’s lips, before he begins tenderly kissing his husband.


End file.
